


Vacant Seat

by GalaxyAqua



Series: Theory of Mortal Sentiments [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Faked Suicide, Pre-Canon, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 03:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15428436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyAqua/pseuds/GalaxyAqua
Summary: Shirogane has been absent from school for 3 weeks now.Akamatsu hates that she’s the only one who’s seemed to notice.





	Vacant Seat

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: heavy talk of suicide

 

Human beings are wonderfully terrible things.

That is a truth Akamatsu Kaede stands by.

For a self-described cynic who smiles with eyes that have long lost their light, the oxymoron is rather fitting. Perhaps that is exactly what she is – an oxymoron – contradiction after callous contradiction, lie after carefully crafted lie.

That’s right, that’s Akamatsu Kaede, a deceivingly cheerful nihilist. By nature faithless, drifting, searching for a sliver of hope to have in her peers but remaining doubtlessly, faultlessly disappointed.

The empty desk beside her is just that.

Disappointment.

Another girl used to sit there. Quiet. Demure. Or the concept of a girl, anyway. She always carried herself as though she were barely existent. 

Shirogane Tsumugi was her name.

Akamatsu still sees her there sometimes, remembers the bespectacled student ever quiet and ever withdrawn, who spoke in words nobody truly understood – about something- _panpa,_ or was it something- _ronba,_ or _ponpa-nonpa,_ she doesn’t really care _–_ and the girl who would exchange the smallest smile with Akamatsu whenever she caught her staring.

That girl would read countless stories while everyone else was eating lunch, would bow the perfectly polite amount when homeroom commenced, would take the backseat in class discussion, and loved to write, write, write. She always had this little notebook, plain and blue and unassuming, and she’d write in it whenever she could.

It’s strange that only after Shirogane vanishes does Akamatsu even notice how odd it feels without her there.

Shirogane Tsumugi wasn’t her friend. Barely an acquaintance, even. She was simply someone that had always been sitting there, someone who’d see worlds in people’s eyes and say nothing.

She doesn’t sit there anymore. 

She was ordinary. Boring. Airheaded. A little bit of a strange girl, too – for she always spoke to Akamatsu as though they were in on a secret together, and she had this habit of looking up at Akamatsu from behind her glasses and her eyes would gleam and she would seem happy.

For a time, Akamatsu even believed it.

Somehow, in this believable happiness, her sweet, shining teal-gray gaze was almost magnetizing. Almost. It was as if she was not quite of this world. Rather, something magical, ethereal, fantastical. Almost interesting. But not quite.

These looks would never linger.

They’d go back to dull and lifeless the moment Akamatsu opened her mouth, and Akamatsu would turn away, because she just didn’t care for something so mundane.

Shirogane has been absent from school for 3 weeks now.

Akamatsu hates that she’s the only one who’s seemed to notice.

 

* * *

 

Her memory of Shirogane is a lot nicer than it should be, even though it isn’t nice at all.

Shirogane, in actuality, was a bit of a downer.

She was pessimistic and nitpicky and condescending. She called people ‘normies’ and she never had a solid opinion about anything except for that _bonba-ronba_ show she liked so much, and she knew so many things about everyone that that she’d seem almost too dangerous to disturb, and she spaced out whenever she didn’t want to listen to people, and it goes on and on.

 _Still, when someone tells you a girl killed herself, you don’t think about the bad parts of her,_ Akamatsu muses. _That would make you a terrible person._

Then Akamatsu remembers that, in a world full of terrible people, what’s one more? _What’s one more?_

She scribbles on Shirogane’s desk. Not bad things. Just. Scribbles. Things she should have said. Conversations they should have had. 

 _I don’t miss you._ She writes. It’s the truth.

She kicks the desk. Her shoes scuff against the metal, but she doesn’t care. She kicks it until it falls over and clatters frightfully against the floor.

The worst part is that nobody tries to stop her.

Turn away. They all turn away.

 

* * *

 

The flowers on the empty desk come laughably late.

They’re not even _from_ anyone. Just the school. Just the acknowledgment that a student tossed herself off the fucking roof and they were supposed to care.

The flowers, Akamatsu laments bitterly, receive more attention that Shirogane herself ever did.

 

* * *

 

Nobody mourns.

Why would they?

Not until there’s gain in mourning.

Gratification in grieving.

Then, the lies begin to take shape.

And they keep forming.

 

* * *

 

“I always wanted to be her friend,” a classmate utters, all sombre and doleful. “She was always so nice to everyone, I wish I knew she needed someone. I could have helped her. I could have been that someone.” 

“Me too,” her friend agrees. “It’s so horrible. I’m so sad she’s gone. Nothing will ever be the same without her.”

Akamatsu rolls her eyes.

They didn’t even look at Shirogane’s desk once.

It was pathetic.

 

* * *

 

The same pair of girls from their class volunteer to speak at the next school assembly, to cry and express their sorrows for Shirogane’s passing. All an act manufactured for sympathy.

They’re good at it, too. People that can cry on command are cunning.

Akamatsu despises them as soon as they start to weave their tale.

“Shirogane was such a wonderful girl. She was the type of girl that would brighten up the room when she spoke, and she always had something incredible to say.”

 _Who are you even talking about?_ Akamatsu ponders. _Did you know Shirogane at all? Did anyone?_

“Losing her is one of the worst things that has ever happened to me. She was one of my closest friends, and… she was always there for me. She was always there for anybody who wanted a shoulder to cry on. I… guess that’s why she thought there was nobody there for her. But I was there. She just didn’t realize. I was always there for her.”

It was sickening how far they were willing to go.  

Pretending to be a lonely girl’s friend post-mortem – a terribly sad and lonely and death-seeking girl like Shirogane Tsumugi, who they call “lovely and kind” (she was not), “sweet and caring and a joy to be around” (she was not), who killed herself because she couldn’t take it anymore (the one truth they ever spoke, but even that was a ‘maybe’ at best) – was the worst, the worst, the worst.

How could someone play the victim of another girl’s suicide? Was it not enough that she was dead?

“We tried to talk her out of it but she wouldn’t listen,” the speaker sobs into the microphone. “I tried so hard for her. I just wanted her to be okay. To talk to me. To trust me.”

Lies, lies, lies.

(But everyone believes them, because it makes them feel better about what happened.)

“She looked fine at school. She was always so happy in class. She was surrounded by people who loved her.”

Fucking hell – everyone is _lying._

(Nobody wants to admit that they might have been any part of what pushed Shirogane closer and closer to the edge.)

“I saw the signs, I did. I tried to help her. I wish I could have saved her. It was my fault.”

The girl on stage is crying. Streams of crocodile tears running down her face. It’s a bitter sight.

At a bright white flash, Akamatsu’s gaze strays, and sure enough, a camera crew is on the sidelines, taking in every single word.

Spreading the lies.

Oh, the media is _loving_ this. Why, these girls might become heroes, might become the new faces of suicide awareness in this ugly old town, and nobody will even remember Shirogane ever existed!

“I’m so sorry, Shirogane. I’m sorry I didn’t save you.”

The girls on stage sob into each other’s arms. Akamatsu smiles delicately to diffuse the flicker of anger that burns inside of her. It leaves as quickly as it came.

“You did everything you could.” A teacher reassures them, reclaiming the podium with a remorseful, practiced grace. “It wasn’t your fault. Nobody could have stopped her. Nobody could have known.”

Disappointing.

“I tried to be her friend but she always pushed me away,” someone is saying in the halls after the assembly. The air is heavy with falsified grief. “I should have tried harder. Maybe _I_ would have been able to stop her.”

“It’s not your fault,” A friend chimes, clapping them morosely on the shoulder. “She always seemed so on top of everything. Kind of perfect, you know? Untouchable. She wouldn’t have let you close no matter how hard you tried.”

Akamatsu’s fists clench as she walks past.

“She really hated everyone. You don’t need to blame yourself for what she did.” 

“I still miss her. It’s really hard.”

“I know. I miss her too.”

 _As if,_ Akamatsu sneers. _Did you even know who she was before she died?_

But the lies keep spreading.

And Akamatsu is left disgusted.

 

* * *

 

When she’s alone, she reflects on the decisions Shirogane made. 

Dying is one thing. Dying at school is another. She wonders if there is any correlation. 

Say, if it was something at school that pushed her off the edge, or if it was something at home that was so unspeakable that she couldn’t ever return, or if it was just that she saw how unfixable this world was and wanted to vanish to a life beyond.

Or if she had been just like Akamatsu Kaede is, and wouldn’t have cared if the entirety of the earth ceased to exist tomorrow.

If, perhaps, she thought that anything would be better than here. 

Akamatsu, left behind, thinks about those inevitable things. The ones people tell themselves to feel better. Not the lies. The what-ifs and the if-onlys.

The world is a fucking disgrace.

What’s the point in living a life that’s not going to be spectacular? What’s the point in being a normal person, when normal is so dry and boring and monotonous and everyone’s words are so damn hollow all the time?

Maybe she would have understood Shirogane the most out of everyone, she thinks.

Though, even so, even if it was in the realm of possibility that they were to become friends, she knows there is nothing she could have done.

She’s not that good of a person.

And she has no intention of getting any better.

“Were there any signs? Did you know? Was she depressed, maybe, or was she struggling with something? You sat next to her, did she ever exhibit distressing behavior of any kind?” Teachers ask her, the very picture of polite concern. “You know, if this incident affects you in any way, you can always come to us for help, right?” 

Akamatsu thinks it’s rich that they pretend to care.

 

* * *

 

An anonymous source posts Shirogane Tsumugi’s suicide note online.

It makes headlines for a day, then everyone moves on. In a flash, she is forgotten. It’s as if she was never even there.

Maybe it’s what Shirogane wanted.

 

* * *

 

_Life just isn’t worth living. Every time I say that, people think they’re entitled to list out everything that makes life worth living for. But I don’t care at all._

_I don’t care about anything in this world. I tried to. I’ve been trying since I was born. I’m tired of uninteresting._

_It’s not like anybody would care if I disappeared._

_Goodbye, to this boring world. I’m going to a better place now._

_Don’t say you miss me, because I know nobody will._

 

_Until we play again,_

_Shirogane Tsumugi_

 

* * *

 

Akamatsu knows it’s illogical to reply to a suicide note. She does, anyway.

 _I still don’t miss you_. She adds to the desk. _You were right, nobody does. I’m the only damn person who will tell the truth._

The flowers wilt as the days roll forward.

Shirogane never answers.

 

* * *

 

She doesn’t stop thinking about the dead girl.

Akamatsu starts to wonder if she’s really any better than the people at school.

 

* * *

 

Then on a morning like any other, Akamatsu wakes with the spark of a sudden memory.

“Is there anything you think is worth giving your life for?” Shirogane had asked once, all proper, tone sweet as honey. As though she were asking a question anyone would ask an acquaintance. A simplistic curiosity – nothing more, nothing less.

She remembers.

Shirogane, as she was.

The real Shirogane.

She remembers.

Yes, out of the blue, Akamatsu remembers the conversation she had with her that day, one perfectly insignificant moment, one perfectly insignificant spring morning just like this.

She remembers something pivotal.

Akamatsu steels herself, flicks open her web browser, and types in _Danganronpa._

 

* * *

 

Well, that’s not what she types at first.

She types in _bandappenpa,_ then _tonkanhonba,_ then _dandanbonba,_ then _dankanbonpa,_ until her laptop spares her the misery and asks, _did you mean: danganronpa_?

And she does, so she thinks, so she clicks, frustration already swirling in her stomach but it all drops, drops, drops into dread.

The images load, passing her lack of safe search filter with glee. She shouldn’t have been that shocked. She is.

“A killing game where high schoolers murder each other to get out!” The front page announces, far too proud for its content – and there’s pictures of horrified children, and their horrifying corpses, and there’s articles upon articles and blood and guts and _executions_ and Akamatsu slams her laptop shut and races to the bathroom to retch.

 

* * *

 

Her disappointment, it seems, knows no bounds.

This concept is disgusting. It’s inhumane. Worse than those who lie about being friends with dead girls. Murder? For entertainment? That’s unspeakably horrible, isn’t it?

She underestimated humanity. She really, truly did.

It’s all such a terrible mess. A rotten idea. A filthy, filthy sight.

Yet she finds herself recovering all too quickly – as though she wasn’t completely in disbelief. As though some part of her knew that this wasn’t even the worst that the world had to offer. Not yet. This was the surface of something new. Something gruesome and cruel and riveting.

She opens her laptop in an apathetic haze, disgusted and fascinated and unable to peel her eyes away.

Killing game.

Death. Blood. Execution. Crying. Screaming.

 _Wow!_ A killing game!

It’s comfortably horrifying, painfully numbing. Oxymoron after oxymoron. Her heart is beating wildly as she watches in a sick enthrallment. Akamatsu has never felt anything like it.

Oh, a killing game! These kids are _murdering_ each other! It’s the worst thing she’s ever seen!

It’s striking at her disappointment like a club, forcing it deeper and deeper into the ground. Lower and lower. And then, she thinks, if the world were to perish at this second, Akamatsu would let it. Yes, that is what it deserves. To die.

Killing game, indeed.

Akamatsu wants to show humanity just how disappointing it can be.

A killing game broadcasted to any who will watch. Children who sign up to be slaughtered.

Oh, _Danganronpa_ really is the worst.

 

* * *

 

“I love _Danganronpa_ so, so much,” she recalls Shirogane saying, voice lilting and dreamy. “If _Danganronpa_ ended, I might die.”

Back then, Akamatsu had thought she was exaggerating and had laughed.

“Talk about overdramatic.” She had said. “If you had half that passion for school, people might actually give a shit about you, you know.”

But Shirogane had laughed too. “I really don’t care about things like that.”

“Me neither.” Akamatsu had replied, smiling.

“I want to die for _Danganronpa_.” Shirogane declared.

“That’s a pretty stupid reason to die.” 

“To you, maybe.”

She doesn’t regret that conversation.

 

* * *

 

Akamatsu starts thinking. Remembering. Thinking harder. Wondering.

 

* * *

 

 _Is danganronpa over,_ she searches.

 _Did danganronpa end_ , she searches.

 _Danganronpa next season,_ she searches.

 _Danganronpa 53_ , she searches.

 _Auditions for danganronpa 53,_ she searches.

 _How to audition for danganronpa 53,_ she searches.

 _Danganronpa 53 application process_ , she searches.

 

* * *

 

The audition period is almost at its end. 

Akamatsu thinks about it for a whole second before she starts filling in the signup form, a morbid curiosity engulfing her being from head to toe.

Is this how all _Danganronpa_ hopefuls feel before they sign up to die, she wonders. It feels just like any other day. Nothing like agreeing to kill or be killed on camera. Just another day.

She glances at her door, then catches herself.

What is she even worried about? Her parents won’t care. It’s not like they’re ever around enough to notice. It’s not like they even have an inkling of what their daughter is really like.

(They still tell their friends she’s in the school band. Akamatsu hasn’t played an instrument since elementary school.)

Her decision is resolute. She presses ‘submit’.

The site redirects to give her a number — 249 — as if that was just what she was about to become. Just another statistic.

Akamatsu can barely contain her excitement.

She will be perfect. Nothing more, nothing less.

To win a killing game, she has to be.

 

* * *

 

The second part of the audition process calls for videos. Short, sharp, snappy.

It’s hardly a concern.

Even though Akamatsu doesn’t have a plan, or a camera that isn’t her crappy phone; all these things seem to find her without much effort.

Coincidence, maybe. She doesn’t believe in things like destiny.

(She doesn’t believe in anything anymore.)

After school, some guy from the neighboring class bursts in with a holler. “We’re filmin’ _Danganronpa_ audition vids in the gym, anyone wanna come join?”

“What the fuck is a _Danganronpa_?” One of Akamatsu’s classmates snorts. “Go home, Momota. You’re never gonna make it big, so just give it up already.”

“Wasn’t askin’ you, fuckface.” Momota retorts. He locks eyes with Akamatsu, as if daring her to decline. “What about you, blondie? Wanna give good ol’ fame and fortune a spin? A face like yours is fuckin’ golden, don’tcha think? For _Danganronpa_ , I mean, anyway.”

She walks up to him with calculated calm. He notes her acceptance with a wide, wide grin.

She brushes past him, nonchalant.

“I didn’t think anyone else knew what _Danganronpa_ was.”

“Not many do around here, but I see you’ve got taste.” Momota nods, jogging to catch up to her. “Do you know what you’re in for?”

“Killing,” Akamatsu replies drily. “I doubt I’ll end up doing anything else.”

“Aww, it’s cute that you think you’re not perfect victim material,” he coos, almost mockingly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “But hey, not aiming for survivor? That’s what everyone wants, right?”

“Are there always survivors?”

“Well fuck, there sure are! What’s the point if everyone fuckin’ dies?” Momota looks at her strangely. “There’s gotta be someone left to get the prize money! And the satisfaction. It comes with the package. You live, you get all the shit you could ever want. It’s just that the fastest way to do it is get away with murder.” 

“So you’re in it for the money.” She concludes. 

“Is that a problem?” He raises an eyebrow challengingly. 

“No, I was just thinking out loud.” She probably sounds disappointed but that’s nothing new. In any case, Momota doesn’t seem to care. “What do you need money for?”

“None of your fuckin’ business, nosy bitch.” Momota scowls, and for the first time, she can see the resolve burning in his eyes. Something deeper. Something manic. She smiles. That’s right, _normal_ people don’t sign up for killing games. “We’re not here to make friends. It’s live or die, and I don’t plan on dying. That’s all you need to know.” 

“Sure, whatever, then. Not like I care.” Akamatsu chuckles sardonically, following him down the end of the hallway and taking a sharp left.

“I bet some people get off on this shit, you know,” Momota tells her, seeming uncomfortable with walking in silence. “I mean there’s a massive underground audience for this kind of thing. Can you believe the amount of money you can earn from winning one game alone? You’d be set for life. Not to mention, the more kids that die, the more money the survivors get! No wonder competition is so damn tough.”

She only vaguely registers the words.

“Fucking incredible.” She says anyway. “Profiting from the death of teenagers. That’s disgusting.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Momota rolls on, voice lifting. “But isn’t that the exciting part? You prove you’re a good killer, you get fame and fortune and you don’t even get arrested, you just walk free.”

“You talk a lot.” Akamatsu informs him.

“No shame in it. The world is gonna fall in love with this voice.” He shrugs, aiming for breezy, but his wild grin says otherwise. “So anyway, why’re you auditioning, blondie?”

She shrugs back. “Felt like it.”

Momota whistles but doesn’t press. “Crazy impulse. You’re that ready to die?”

“Are you?”

“Like I would.” He scoffs. “If I believe in something, I make it happen, and I will not die. I’m not like that girl that committed suicide. Hell, what was her name again? Ha, shows how much I know.”

“Shirogane.” Akamatsu clips.

“Probably. Whatever,” Momota pushes open the gym door. “She should’ve just signed up with us instead. Makes for an easy target when someone already wants to die, you know?”

“Right.”

“Right.” Momota repeats.

“She did say she would die for _Danganronpa_.” Akamatsu says.

“She did? Huh. One of us.” Momota high-fives a boy with a hat who has scuttled down from the stage, grinning from ear to ear. “Hey Saihara.”

“Hey yourself.” Saihara’s grin turns to Akamatsu. “Oh wow, you look like a sob story waiting to happen. Total victim material.”

“Gee, thanks. Really loving the vouch of confidence from both of you.” Akamatsu says sarcastically. “Why’re you auditioning for _Danganronpa,_ huh?”

 He blushes suddenly, staring at his shoes. “Ah, I’m a really big fan, have been for ages… it’s everything to me. I love it so much. I would do anything to be a part of _Danganronpa_. Absolutely anything… anything…” Saihara presses his palms to his cheeks, looking unsettlingly happy as his hazel eyes flick towards Akamatsu. “And you? Who are you, anyway?”

“This isn’t a big school.” Akamatsu points out.

“I don’t care about the people here.” Saihara fires back. “In fact, if this school burned down with everyone inside of it, I wouldn’t care at all. I might even be the one holding the match, but that would be too easy, and cases that are easy to solve are boooring, you know?”

 _Ah._ Akamatsu thinks. _Normal people don’t sign up for Danganronpa._

“Saihara, this is ‘crazy impulse’ girl,” Momota introduces, clearly amused until he realizes something. “I don’t know her name, actually.”

“Akamatsu Kaede,” she extends both her hands to the boys. “Nice to meet you.”

“Momota Kaito,” offers Momota. His handshake is firm, almost hard enough to hurt. Akamatsu squeezes it tightly back. She can feel his knuckles crack beneath her grip.

“Saihara Shuuichi,” comes Saihara. His handshake is flimsy, and a little clammy, but his words aren’t. “Hey, you know that girl that killed herself, right? Threw herself off the school rooftop or something?”

Akamatsu tries to suppress her distaste by hiding it behind a wry smile. “Why are you both so obsessed with Shirogane? She was a nobody.”

“Ouch.” Momota says. “Fine. Touchy.”

“No, listen,” Saihara cuts in again, animated. “Wasn’t she — I mean, it’s just a fan theory, of course, but it all matches up so perfectly and—”

Akamatsu doesn’t know what kind of face she’s making but for a moment, Momota looks uncharacteristically sympathetic.

“Shut the fuck up, Saihara.” He says, hand waving dismissively and the expression falls from his face like a sheet mask. “We’ll drop it. Okay with you, Akamatsu?”

“Didn’t care in the first place.” She responds.

Momota acts like he doesn’t hear her. “And as compensation, we’ll finetune your audition video first. That cool with you?”

“Whatever.” Akamatsu replies irritably. She said she didn’t care already so he should stop acting like she does. “Aren’t you gonna try and sabotage me because we’re competitors?”

“No way, man, the sabotaging comes after we all get accepted.” Momota declares proudly, thumbing at his chest. “Besides, you’re feisty. I like that.”

“Gross.” She says.

“It was a compliment, but proving my point. Go stand on that piece of tape while we set up the camera.”

She does so without much comment. There’s a brief shuffle as the boys adjust the tripod on the stage, and Saihara calls for a quick test shot before they’re ready to begin.

“We’re gonna film your real audition now,” Saihara says, while Momota swings his legs over the edge of the stage and watches.

“Spotlight’s on you, blondie,” he smirks. “Nervous?”

She flips her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

A copy of her application form is in Saihara’s hands, as he expertly directs, “Okay, this is what you’re gonna do. Start with saying ‘Number 249, Akamatsu Kaede’, then talk a little bit about the talent you want, why you’re auditioning, and what kind of role you’d like, if any. Got it?” 

She nods.

“Okay, nice.” He adjusts the camera one last time. “Go.”

“Number 249. Akamatsu Kaede.” She begins, confident and unfaltering. “I’d like to be a pianist.”

The rest of her audition goes similarly – smooth and sharp – and she smirks when Momota flashes her a thumbs up, Saihara whispering a “got it in one!” as he stops recording.

“I’ll send it to your email tonight,” Saihara grins, eyes glued to his phone as he taps quietly away at it. “It might be wishful thinking on my part, but I hope we all get in.”

“Nothing’s impossible, believe in yourself, yadda yadda,” Momota beams back, leaping off the stage and stealing her spot on the tape.

“Yeah, yeah.” Akamatsu replies, flapping her hand. She sits on the stage next to the tripod, and waves at him while Saihara is still preoccupied. “Alright, now get on with your showboating Momota, we don’t have all day.”

“Shut up!” He squawks. “I need to psyche myself up first!” 

Saihara laughs, reaching with one hand to adjust the camera to match his height, then nodding at him with an amiable smile. “Take all the time you need, Momota, _I’m_ not going to rush you.”

 

* * *

 

As promised, Akamatsu receives her video that very night, finding that Saihara had meticulously edited and named it, as well as entered in the relevant details on a separate text document titled ‘read me!’. A timeline is attached, listing out important dates and contact details should she come into any trouble.

He is _obsessed_. She thinks it would be nice if she had that sort of passion for anything. She doesn’t. 

She submits it completely on a whim and doesn’t turn back.

 

* * *

 

53 applicants get callbacks – _wow, hilarious_ , _Danganronpa 53,_ Akamatsu thinks with a tired roll of her eyes – and Akamatsu Kaede is one of them. Momota Kaito is another. Saihara Shuuichi, another.

Hypothetically, only 16 of them will make it in. Package instructions, formula, or whatever. 

In any case, she’s not worried at all.

 

* * *

 

 

She takes the train to her callback auditions with Momota and Saihara. It’s a long trip. The three of them buy train station bentos, and she smiles as she listens to them talk about past seasons of _Danganronpa_. 

She only had to see one season and a whole night of blog scrolling to know what she was getting herself into. 

Honestly, she’s not surprised to learn that Saihara’s favorite character is Kirigiri. If it wasn’t the detective comment he made during his audition, then it might have been the keychains of the lilac-haired detective hanging from his phone, wallet and bag-strap.

Momota poked fun at him for it, but Saihara was quick to point out his affinity for Celestia, joking that Momota should talk about his “goth wife” at the interview, because that would surely earn him a spot in the upcoming season.

“I like Maizono,” Akamatsu answers when prompted.

“You tell them you wanna be an idol chick, and I’ll tell them I want a goth wife,” Momota laughs.

“I’ll tell them I like girls.” She says, not particularly thinking.

Momota doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ll tell them you want a goth wife too, then!”

“What if they decide to give you the same goth wife?” Saihara asks, looking far too serious as he ponders the question.

“I’ll defeat Momota in hand-to-hand combat.” Akamatsu decides.

“I’ll kill her.” Momota replies.

They don’t talk as cheerfully after that.

 

* * *

 

Akamatsu Kaede is hallucinating. 

She enters the audition hall alone, having excused herself to the bathroom with no intention of going back, only to find that her eyes have begun to play tricks on her. Time is ticking. The screen flashes 249. Akamatsu has to go.

She’s not panicking. She’s not nervous. Nothing can explain why she sees a ghost at the end of the hall, minutes before her interview.

Nothing can explain why it’s the ghost of Shirogane Tsumugi, with fiercer eyes and a fiercer smile than any other she’d seen on the other girl. The ghost of Shirogane Tsumugi – who looked more alive than she ever did when she was actually alive.

“Good luck,” the ghost tells her. Her eyes are gleaming, brighter and more vibrant than they’ve ever been before.

Akamatsu turns away and doesn’t reply. 

She doesn’t care for the living, so why should she care for the dead? 

(Were Shirogane’s eyes always so blue?)

 

* * *

 

She doesn’t wait for Saihara and Momota when she heads home. She’s too busy thinking. Wracking her brain for an answer to this strange occurrence.

 _What was it that Saihara was going to say about Shirogane back then_ , she wonders. _Wasn’t she — wasn’t she – wasn’t she what? Still alive? That’s impossible, right?_

 

* * *

 

Impossible, yet they meet again at briefing. Orientation. Introduction. Preparation.

Akamatsu forgets what phase it is, but “the formation of _Danganronpa_ has always been around its participants,” stated the acceptance email, and thus, “all accepted parties must attend weekly sessions to solidify their characters and voice any concerns prior to running the program”. 

Printed email in hand, she’s led into a room with a single desk and two chairs. The ghost of Shirogane sits on one side, and beckons her closer.

“Why are you here?” Akamatsu asks.

“Why are you?” Shirogane shoots back, looking thoroughly amused.

“I don’t know.” Akamatsu answers with a shrug. Her default response falls from her lips. “Felt like it, I guess.”

Shirogane laughs, and Akamatsu thinks the laugh is chillingly real for the ghost of a dead girl.

“This is an awfully long way to have gotten on just an impulse. You’re really something, Akamatsu-san. Dare I say it, I’m quite impressed.”

She smiles. “You’re rather sweet for a figment of my imagination.”

Shirogane’s mirth slowly fades at the words, and she blinks her blue eyes, curious and intrigued.

“A figment of your imagination,” she echoes. “I like that.”

“You like what you are?”

“I’m not sure you can say what I am,” Shirogane replies, leaning forward as she presses a folder onto the desk. “But I can say what you are going to be. Tell me, Akamatsu-san, why did you choose a pianist of all talents?”

Akamatsu doesn’t think about her parents and the piano they bought in hopes it would raise her on their behalf. She doesn’t think about the little girl that sat alone for hours and hours staring at the keys, wondering if she’d be scolded if she plucked them off one by one.

Wondered if anyone would even notice, or would they just replace the keys just like they’d replaced their daughter with the image of a perfect child that doesn’t exist.

“Does everything I do have to have a deeper meaning?” She asks. 

“Well, no, I suppose not.” Shirogane purses her lips, and Akamatsu finds herself drawn to the action. “That’s what writing your backstory is for. It’s just… a pianist, wow,” she smiles again, and it’s so very content. “I can think of an amazing execution for a pianist.” 

“The world is your oyster.” Akamatsu says.

“No, it’s _Danganronpa_ ’s,” Shirogane replies. “It’s always been _Danganronpa’s_ – but we’re getting off-topic. Let us write a story,” the end of her pen touches her mouth. “For the _SHSL_ Pianist of _Danganronpa V3_.”

“Okay.” Akamatsu says.  

So that’s what they do.

Akamatsu talks Shirogane through a life she would have lived if she was the world’s sweetheart piano prodigy, and Shirogane fills in every gap, writing in that little blue notebook she always used to carry with her when she was still alive.

Akamatsu Kaede of _Danganronpa V3_ will be brave. She will be headstrong and caring. She will be the best killer of them all because nobody will suspect such a loving, kind, cooperative- 

“Do you want to be the protagonist?” Shirogane asks suddenly. “I think you could do it. If you’re willing.”

Akamatsu stills. “I don’t really care as long as I win.”

And Shirogane smiles even wider than before.

It’s strange. For a ghost, she smells like rain, and a softer fragrance that Akamatsu can’t quite place. Alone with her, Akamatsu envisions sinking into an indescribable limbo – a state in which she is not dead, but not really alive either.

“I don’t miss you,” she blurts suddenly, and Shirogane glances up at her, surprised. “I wrote a message on your desk, and I’m not sure if you saw it, but I don’t miss you. I never did.”

“Oh. That’s okay.” Shirogane says. “Nobody does. I’m a forgettable kind of girl anyway.” 

“You’re not.” Akamatsu insists, reaching a hand out to her and finding a physical form for her to touch. The fabric of Shirogane’s blazer is soft against her fingertips. She doesn’t know what this means. “You’re not forgettable. I don’t miss you, but I still remember you.”

“Well, I’m sitting right in front of you.” Shirogane remarks, and she gently peels Akamatsu’s hand from her shoulder. “I’m sure if you didn’t come here, you would have forgotten about me eventually.”

“You said you wanted to die for _Danganronpa_.” Akamatsu whispers. “Why didn’t you?”

“What’s to say I won’t?” Shirogane whispers back, in that all too familiar way – conspiratorial, like they were in on a secret together. It sets off a dull ache in Akamatsu’s chest. They could have been friends. They could have been better people. In another reality, they could have.

“You’re already dead.”

“Not all of me,” Shirogane’s reply is resolute. “I will never die until _Danganronpa_ dies." 

“Pretty stupid reason to die,” Akamatsu’s voice sounds strained, feels strained, repeating words she knows are empty now, considering the circumstances.

Shirogane smiles anyway, not ashamed as she uses the same response as before. “To you, maybe.”

When they depart that day, it almost felt like their reunion hadn’t happened at all.

Akamatsu is almost content in thinking that it hadn’t.

 

* * *

 

 _She survived,_ Akamatsu thinks. 

Shirogane survived a fall like that without injury, without changing her ways. A miracle, maybe, but she’s sure the Shirogane that wrote the note would disagree.

To leave this world, she didn’t want a miracle. She didn’t want to survive. But she did.

Did she really survive a _fall_ though, Akamatsu asks herself. Or did she survive _Danganronpa?_

Isn’t it the same thing? Or is she losing her mind day by day, imagining a ghost of all things, taking her by the hand and leading her further and further towards a game of murder or being murdered?

 _Is Akamatsu ready to die if it comes to it?_ She asks herself. _Die for Danganronpa?_

 _Is she even ready to survive it?_ She wonders. _Isn’t the protagonist role a safety net? Does Shirogane want to save her? What is her true intention? What is she thinking?_

Well, it doesn’t really matter.

Everything ends with disappointment, anyway.

 

* * *

 

They meet again for costume fitting.

There’s a task on the _Danganronpa_ agenda every week, Akamatsu realizes, and this ghost of Shirogane is going to haunt her through every single one. 

She might as well get comfortable, she muses, drumming her fingers on the same desk she had been sitting at last time.

Shirogane is speaking to her, going through a list of diagrams and asking questions that Akamatsu doesn’t know how to answer – for instance, she doesn’t remember the last time she’s had herself measured, but if it means that Shirogane will have her arms around her for an unspecified period of time, she thinks she wouldn’t particularly mind.

A paranormal encounter like that maybe isn’t so boring.

(Until she gets used to it.)

The ghost wraps her pale, cold fingers around Akamatsu’s wrist, and tugs.

“Are you taking me towards the light?” Akamatsu jokes half-heartedly, tone dry as ever.

“I’m taking you to the fitting room,” Shirogane informs her.

“Nice.” Akamatsu says. “Do I have to take off my clothes?”

Shirogane laughs – she’s making a habit of it, it seems, and Akamatsu is only glad that she’s now able to witness it. In death, Shirogane just appeared so much happier. Akamatsu wonders if it’s true that death sets people free.

“No, you don’t have to take off your clothes. Not all of them. If you’d prefer to stay in your shirt and jeans, that would be absolutely fine.”

“So it’s an option,” Akamatsu says cheekily, trying to stir a reaction. “To take off my clothes.”

“It is an option,” Shirogane replies, ever indifferent, entering the fitting room and holding out the door for her. “But you will be forewarned that I may be getting incredibly close to you when I take your measurements, so please do what is more comfortable for you.”

“What do you prefer?”

“My preferences are irrelevant.” She quips. “Though the more you strip down, the easier my job will be.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

Akamatsu takes to the plush armchair as Shirogane locks the door. It’s there that she tosses her jacket and shirt off, uncaring, then folds up in the chair and makes herself at home.

Shirogane looks at her exasperatedly. “Akamatsu-san, I can’t measure you if you’re sitting like that.”

“But I’m comfy here!”

“You can sit there as long as you like after we’re done with the measurements.”

With a sigh, Akamatsu gets to her feet. Shirogane’s prepared within an instant, tape in hand and notepad open on the table.

“This won’t take very long.” She informs her. “Most of today will be deciding what you will be wearing. The measurements are just to make sure the outfit looks good on you.”

Akamatsu hums in affirmation.

“Don’t be immature,” Shirogane says. “But I’m going to measure your chest, so please put your arms up.”

Akamatsu grins despite herself, doing as she’s told. “Why did you think I was going to be immature about that?”

“Just a precaution.” She answers in a clipped tone. Her arms pull the thin tape around Akamatsu’s chest, where it meets snugly at the front.

“Really? That’s all? Are you gonna get embarrassed if I comment on it?” Akamatsu goads. “I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of boobs in your lifetime.”

“Akamatsu-san, I told you not to be immature.” She says stiffly. She looks at the number on the tape, and holds it in place with one hand as she jots it down on the notepad with the other. Akamatsu can’t resist leaning in on her a little, and delights in the slight jolt she gets when Shirogane turns to frown at her, and pull the tape back from her chest.

“Say, you’re not really a ghost, are you?” Akamatsu asks, gaze fixed on the girl with a measuring tape as if she’d disappear the moment she took her eyes off of her.

“I am not anything.” Shirogane replies. “And neither are you. That’s why we signed up for _Danganronpa._ ”

Akamatsu laughs. She isn’t supposed to, but she doesn’t care. “Well, cheers to being nothing together.”

 

* * *

 

They meet again. It’s faster. Everything is accelerating, picking up speed, blurring the days together.

 _Danganronpa_ is coming for them, and their uninteresting lives are going to end.

They _are_ going to die for _Danganronpa_ , Akamatsu realizes. Because anyone who goes in never comes out the same way. 

Shirogane is proof. She’s so much bolder, livelier, and richer in character now – or had she always been like this deep down? Akamatsu scrapes her memories, trying to find a moment that could prove her wrong. 

It’s impossible. She didn’t care enough then. She didn’t care about Shirogane at all. 

Shirogane smiles, a cunning glint to her eyes as she presses three coat hangers thin as bird bones into the Akamatsu’s hands. Had they not been swimming in purple fabric, the blonde is afraid they would have snapped immediately.

“Akamatsu-san, if everything goes well today, you might be ready for your debut shoot! Aren’t you excited?” Shirogane chirps, and she’s so much _cuter_ this way, Akamatsu laments. She should have been like this from the start. 

Maybe then it wouldn’t have come to this.

Maybe then, they could have been mediocre people together, who didn’t fake suicides to get out of their own lives and didn’t sign up for killing games on impulsive, careless whims.

Still, there’s no point thinking about that now. The Shirogane with the blue eyes that isn’t quite anything is much more intriguing that the dull girl that sat at the desk by the window.

And with time in this life running short, Akamatsu wants to play a game.

 

* * *

 

“I like you a lot, Shirogane-san.”

“Akamatsu-san, please stop saying strange things out of the blue.” Shirogane sighs, sounding plaintive. She’s seated at the computer now, with Akamatsu leaning over her shoulder as she edits the photos from the debut shoot.

Akamatsu does not know head or tails of this program, but she likes that it can make her look kinder – likes that Shirogane is prettying her, likes that she is so focused on making Akamatsu look exactly the way she wants. 

“I’m just speaking my mind.” Akamatsu replies. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to keep up with me.”

“Yes, well, whether you like me or not, that’s not going to change anything.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t. But it could.”

“We’re going into _Danganronpa_ together.” She states, unblinking as she starts airbrushing Akamatsu’s skin. “Nothing that happens in the real world will matter there.”

“You’re going in with me?” Akamatsu asks with poorly concealed surprise. The smile doesn’t leave her face. “Honestly, what’s with you? Did you kill yourself just to die again?” 

“No,” Shirogane replies.

“Okay,” Akamatsu says with a shrug. “Dying twice is overkill, anyway.”

Shirogane’s mouse pauses in the midst of softening the photo, and she sighs again. It’s like a fairy’s breath, an almost imaginary huff of air from pink petal lips. “Was that pun intended?”

“Maybe.” Akamatsu gazes at her intently. “Do you intend to be so pretty, Shirogane-san?”

“You’re sweet.” Shirogane murmurs, “But there is no reason to flatter me.”

 Akamatsu only smiles at her again. The tips of her ears have gone red, and that’s all the incentive she needs to continue.

 

* * *

 

In a nicer story, Akamatsu imagines them falling in love.

She imagines Shirogane blushing over the slightest brush of their fingers, she imagines the bespectacled girl stammering as Akamatsu pushes closer and closer. She imagines speaks to her in teasing tones until Shirogane has to push her away, and Akamatsu would laugh at her through her apologies, and kiss her gently on the cheek.

She imagines walking hand in hand with her, stopping in front of bakeries and sharing parfaits in the heat of summer. She imagines two simple girls in love, two happy girls that replace the hollow husks that are Akamatsu and Shirogane here – yes, here, where they are too far grounded in reality yet not grounded enough. 

She imagines, but that’s all it is. Imagination.

Akamatsu is not the heroine of a romance and Shirogane is not a love interest.

Akamatsu is the protagonist of a killing game, and if all goes according to plan, Shirogane is going to die again.

There might be nicer stories, she muses, but this isn’t one of them.

 

* * *

 

Then again, they don’t have to be a full-blown love story to be _something_. 

Whether that something was better than nothing, however, only time would tell.

Shirogane could be her ruin. 

She could save her.

She could destroy her.

Does it really matter? 

Akamatsu is too jaded to care about the consequences, anyway.

 

* * *

 

“You’re really beautiful today.” Akamatsu whispers, leaning close to her ear.

“I suppose I must add ‘flirty’ to your character bio, since you seem so insistent on flirting with me for reasons that elude me completely,” Shirogane says without looking up from the clipboard in her hands, and smiling despite herself.

“Good,” Akamatsu pulls away, sing-song. “Will you do me the honor of being my first official flirt in _Danganronpa,_ Shirogane-san?”

“I’m sure you’ll find another victim.” She says.

Akamatsu smiles. “I don’t think anybody could be more beautiful than you.”

Shirogane rolls her eyes. “Now you’re just being plain obnoxious.”

 

* * *

 

The clock keeps ticking.

Akamatsu and Shirogane keep circling.

 _Will she cave before time is up,_  Akamatsu wonders. _Would Shirogane ever love anything real, when she was more Danganronpa than she was human?_

 

* * *

 

“Say, do you like me?” Akamatsu asks her.

“Not really.” Shirogane’s tone is on the edge of sarcastic, but Akamatsu figures the tiny quirk of her lips is the most sincerity she will get.

“What a shame.” The blonde sighs. “And I came all this way just to find you.”

Shirogane’s cold facade cracks a little more. “Joining a killing game for me? You really know the way to a girl’s heart.”

Akamatsu purses her lips, smile sharp and darkly amused. “Anything for you, babe.”

“Really now,” Shirogane continues. “I might as well add ‘reckless heroine’ to your bio now, shouldn’t I?”

“Reckless and irresistibly charming.” Akamatsu says, winking at her. “You can’t deny it. I make your heart skip a little.”

“You’ll have to try harder than that.”

“Can I kiss you, Shirogane-san?”

“Hypothetically, yes." 

“You’re making this a lot harder than it has to be.”

“I think you’ll find that you are the one making it difficult, Akamatsu-san.” Shirogane responds curtly. “There’s no point in getting close to me. Whatever happens between us will be forgotten once we’re in the _Danganronpa_ world.”

“All the better. You can erase my fuck-ups when we’re done and you’ll just have to fall for me all over again. There doesn’t have to be a point to any of this.” Akamatsu says. “I’m a live-in-the-moment kind of girl.”

“I didn’t plan for us to get together in the show.” Shirogane tells her.

“You should, though.” Akamatsu says, grinning this time. “And write in a kiss somewhere.”

“I will not.” Shirogane replies, but offers no further insight on the matter. Instead, she settles her bony fingers onto her clipboard and peers directly into Akamatsu’s eyes. “If I kiss you now, will that make up for it?”

“That will more than make up for it.” Akamatsu quips, and she brings their lips together.

 

* * *

 

Again, they just keep meeting.

Akamatsu memorizes the curve of Shirogane’s mouth against her own, and Shirogane lets her. It’s a nice feeling, but Akamatsu can’t help wanting more.

She’s losing, Akamatsu realizes. She’s losing the very game she started, and Shirogane is as composed as ever, as if she was playing along to see what Akamatsu would do next.

Shirogane is always a step ahead, Akamatsu realizes.

And there is nothing she can do about it.

The air around them is too businesslike now, too suffocating – as if it were professional practice for Shirogane to be kissing a cast member, and for that cast member to be inches away from sitting in her lap. Nothing’s stopping her from it either, so Akamatsu slides off the table and finds her destination, arms wrapped around Shirogane’s shoulders as she lands in the other girl’s lap.

She wants to win before they lose this feeling. She wants to make Shirogane tick.

“Let’s make memories together,” Akamatsu says cheerfully. Her enthusiasm is unusual, but she doesn’t care. “Nice ones. Like ice cream dates and riding theme park attractions. We can take those novelty photos where we pull weird faces, it’ll be fun.”

“It’s not worth it.” Shirogane answers primly. “None of those memories will stay.”

Before Akamatsu can charm her into it, Shirogane kisses her again, and she knows it’s now just to distract her from making them anything more than what they are, but Akamatsu threads her fingers through Shirogane’s cascading length of hair and doesn’t complain.

Her minty lip balm is cold against her lips.  

 

* * *

 

“One of the other cast members, our _SHSL_ Detective, told me his execution ideas,” Shirogane informs her. “He’s very thorough. I can tell he’s quite dedicated to the show.”

“Getting attached?” Akamatsu teases, before kissing her lightly on the cheek. She doesn’t think about Saihara’s sweaty face, or the manic look in his eyes when they were filming their audition videos together. “I’m jealous. I thought I was your favorite." 

“He’s not going to replace you.” Shirogane says. “I like all the reactions we’ve been getting for a cute female protagonist.”

Akamatsu laughs, reaching forward to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Shirogane’s ear. She ignores the way her stomach tingles at the word ‘cute’. “He’d make a weird protagonist, anyway. What kind of protagonist goes around killing people?”

“Right,” Shirogane responds distantly, pen sliding frantically across the page in her lap as Akamatsu leans over and presses a kiss to her temple. “That would be quite unexpected, wouldn’t it?”

 

* * *

 

“The cast is meeting for a dress rehearsal this weekend.” Shirogane relays over the phone. “Are you excited to meet everyone?”

“Sure,” Akamatsu says. “I’d really rather not share you, though." 

“Aren’t you clingy,” She mutters. Akamatsu can envision her taut expression, smile thin. It’s an expression that comes more frequently nowadays – the very same expression Shirogane used to wear at school when nothing was of interest to her anymore. It might be a sign.

“It’s ‘cause I like being around you.” Akamatsu informs her, uncaring.

The line goes silent for several seconds.

“I like being around you, too.” Shirogane says, equally uncaring.

 

* * *

 

The cast arrives in increments. They’re a strange-looking bunch, but Akamatsu is hit with the stark reminder that none of them matter to her at all.

Not even Momota or Saihara, whose familiar faces might have been at the very least comforting – they’re nothing more than strangers to her. They were never going to be any more than that, she admits to herself.

Cold nobodies, raring to kill. That’s what they all were. Cold hearted kids with nothing left to lose.

Yet with Shirogane, in the bathroom, Akamatsu feels warm.

“I’m so excited,” Akamatsu lies.

“I’m so glad,” Shirogane isn’t lying, because she finally looks alive again, eyes bright and vivid and happy. She’s happy enough to press Akamatsu against the bathroom wall and kiss her firmly, and really, Akamatsu isn’t complaining.

She can feel the clock ticking again. She’s going to make the most of this while she still can.

They’re giggling when they exit the bathroom, Akamatsu smoothing down Shirogane’s hair and Shirogane looking truly overjoyed. If she blinked, Akamatsu might have even believed that they were made for each other, but they’re not.

This just isn’t a nicer story.

 

* * *

 

“Yo Akamatsu, long time no see.”

Suddenly Momota enters her line of sight, with a coat that reveals a galaxy on its underside, one of his sleeves slipping off his broad shoulder. 

He tugs it back up with a huff. “Stupid jacket.”

“Why are you only wearing one sleeve?” Akamatsu asks, nose wrinkling.

“Cause it’s cool, fuck off.” Momota snaps. “Don’t think you have immunity just because you’re the protagonist.”

“I never said I did.” She replies.

“Can you fuckin’ believe,” he starts, grinning in that manic way he always did. “That Shirogane was alive this whole time _and_ played the _SHSL_ Cosplayer in _DR52_? If word got out, our school would look like a bunch of freaks.”

 “Wouldn’t be far from the truth.” Akamatsu crosses her arms. “And someone’s going to find out eventually. _Danganronpa_ is a broadcasted series, after all.” 

“It’ll be a fuckin’ riot!” Momota laughs, and the sound is harsh on her ears. “Especially since I’ll be the only one here that’ll be seeing the aftermath! Sucks to be you!”

“Go die, Momota.”

“Ladies first,” he sneers.

“ _Amami-san_ ,” exclaims Saihara suddenly, swaying slightly on his feet and looking happier than Akamatsu has ever seen him. His usually meek voice is overpowering. “I am such a big fan…! That stunt you pulled in trial 5 was _amazing_! Can I get your autograph? I’m collecting a–”

“Why does it matter?” Amami grits out, rolling his sleeves further up his arms. Akamatsu doesn’t quite know him, but she watches the interaction unfold, if only because everyone else seems to.

“You see, I–”

“Leave me alone.”

“Shit, man, don’t go breaking his heart so quickly.” Momota, ever fearless, goes far too close to this maybe-celebrity, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him. “Hey, you look different in real life!”

“Don’t touch me.” Amami snaps. 

“Yeesh,” Momota lifts his hands. “Find your chill, man.” 

“Do you know how many people I watched die in front of me?” Amami asks, tone venomous. “Do you know what they’re planning to do to me? To _you_? If you don’t, then keep your fucking mouths shut and pray that you die a peaceful death.” 

For as much as he’s been ignored, Saihara looks overjoyed, as he tugs on the arm of the closest person. “This… this is the real post-canon Amami-san, I’m so _honored_ to be here…”   

“Get off,” The guy that Saihara’s tugging pulls his arm away. “Stop being such a weirdo, seriously. It’s not like Amami’s that special.”

“You’re just mad because your fave died,” remarks a shorter, red-haired girl. “Chapter 3 culprit was a bitch anyway.” 

“Aren’t they always?”

“Isn’t that the best part?” Saihara cuts in, looking thrilled. “The chapter 3 culprit from _DR52_ was so cool!”

“Can you not talk about my friends like they’re fictional characters?” Amami growls.

“But they are.”

“They’re not.” He hisses.

“What’s so bad about being fictional?” Another girl asks, tugging at one of her brown pigtails. “Hasn’t fiction always been better than reality?”

“It’s true,” Shirogane says lightly. “And it’s the reason you’re all here, so there’s no turning back now.”

“Who is that, anyway?” Akamatsu asks Shirogane in a low voice, finally relenting to her curiosity. “The Amami guy." 

“A killing game survivor, from the 52nd season. Just like me.” Shirogane replies. 

She sounds how Akamatsu feels – disappointed.

 

* * *

 

Akamatsu is at school, and she gazes at the empty desk by her side.

Shirogane has been absent from school for 3 weeks now.

People have been asking her where she’s been. 

Not Shirogane, no, they’ve been asking where _Akamatsu_ has been.

Not Shirogane. Nobody cares about Shirogane. It doesn’t make sense.

They’re asking _Akamatsu_ as though Akamatsu Kaede was the one that up and disappeared.

As though there isn’t an empty fucking desk right next to her and the girl that used to sit there is probably fucking dead in a ditch somewhere never to return.

As though Akamatsu went on a vacation she doesn’t remember while Shirogane died and that’s the gossip of the day.

It’s sickening.

Someone’s written all over Shirogane’s desk too – and it looks like her own handwriting. Sick fucking joke. 

She kicks the desk and then, without much deliberation, storms outside.

 

* * *

 

It gets stranger.

The next day, on her usual route to school, Akamatsu is dragged off the street struggling and screaming, yanked into a black car like in all those bad crime shows she’s seen in passing – by the oldest, lamest kidnapping technique on the block.

 

* * *

 

She wakes in a locker.

 

* * *

 

She wakes in a locker again.

 

* * *

 

When Akamatsu Kaede meets Saihara Shuuichi for the first time, he’s a pitiful, quivering sight. She could have just let him be, by all means, let him fend for himself, but she didn’t.

She has too big of a heart to leave him like that.

So instead she smiles, confident and charged. It seems to ease his nerves a little, which is a relief.

 _What a sweet boy_ , she thinks.

When she walks, she lets him follow.

He’s quite in need of a boost, so she helps him.

She likes Saihara. He’s nice. They make a good team.

 

* * *

 

When Akamatsu Kaede meets Shirogane Tsumugi for the first time, it is without hesitation that she feels herself gravitating towards her. Distracted by her.

It must be part of her talent, she thinks. A world-class cosplay extraordinaire, how _amazing!_

Yes, what an exciting talent to have, there must be so many stories and so many fun memories – and Akamatsu wants to learn them all. That must be why!

Then again, it might not even be that deep. It might just be that Shirogane is unfairly pretty for a girl that calls herself plain. 

She finds her simplicity charming, her gaze so deep that if she fell into them, she might find herself in another world entirely. 

Shirogane doesn’t seem quite of this world herself, somehow magical, ethereal, fantastical.

The pianist feels drawn to her somehow, in a way that’s much too fast for a first meeting, and as romantic as the concept of love at first sight is, she’s certain that this isn’t enough to explain it.

There’s just something.

Something about the way Shirogane carries herself. Something about the way she tilts her head when Akamatsu greets her. The way her fingers fit together, the way her wrists overlap daintily, the way she stares, eyes half-lidded, when she’s not interested in conversation.

“You have this strange, almost sexy aura about you.” Akamatsu blurts, momentarily forgetting that Saihara was standing right behind her. He coughs a little. 

It’s okay though, because Shirogane, for the most part, doesn’t seem to find anything odd with the comment. 

Akamatsu thinks she’s kind of adorable in that aspect, too.

Even more curiously, there is something Shirogane is hiding, and it’s not the teasing thought of her curves beneath that plain old uniform – nor is it the fact that Akamatsu needs to get a filter for what she says around pretty girls, because otherwise, this is going to be a problem. 

Once she gets to the bottom of this situation, Akamatsu thinks, she is going to find out just what Shirogane’s deal is. 

Once that time comes.

 

* * *

 

The killing game, preached to them all by a group of stuffed animals and oversized robots, pushes Akamatsu forward. Saihara, in his meek and quiet glory, pushes Akamatsu forward.

Shirogane remains a mystery. Shirogane cannot know what she is planning.

Akamatsu pushes forward and doesn’t look back.

 

* * *

 

The truth is, Akamatsu Kaede believes that people have the power to change their own destiny, so long as they’re willing to take a chance and be prepared to give up everything to do so.

The weight of the burden she carries is as heavy as the shot put ball in her backpack. Solid, but full of distinct purpose. Once thrown, it will travel. It will not return. Many things in life happen to be this way.

A chance taken, for instance, cannot be taken back. Every chance has a risk, a probability of success, or it wouldn’t be a chance at all.

But having enough passion for a cause can make any risk seem minuscule and Akamatsu is teeming with it.

The next day, she will serve justice.

 

* * *

 

“You’re so pretty,” Akamatsu can’t help but blurt when they’re alone, and she finds that she’s not all surprised that Shirogane barely reacts. Shirogane seems tired.

The killing game does that to people, Akamatsu reasons. She wouldn’t want to admit it, but she’s tired, too. She hopes it’ll be over soon. She wants to go home. Her parents probably miss her. She wonders how her classmates are doing.

“I’m really not that pretty,” Shirogane says delicately. “I’m just plain old me.” 

“C’mon, won’t you accept the compliment at least once? I’m plainer than you are, anyway!” Akamatsu gestures to them both. “Look at us! Simple isn’t a bad thing, as long as you’re doing what makes you happy – when you can, of course! This probably isn’t the best place to be pursuing your hobbies, but I’m sure that when we get out of here, you can go right back to cosplaying! I’m sure you’re especially cute when you’re all dressed up!”

“Plain girls will always be plain girls.” Shirogane says. “But between you and I, it is clear that I am the plainest. There is no reason to flatter me.” 

Akamatsu smiles, and doesn’t know why it feels a touch bitter.   

She lets it go. 

In the next hour, she will serve justice.

 

* * *

 

Justice is found in a dead body that should have freed them all from this hell.

Akamatsu is glad, almost, that everything went according to plan, until she realizes that it had not.

 

* * *

 

The truth hits her hard.

Amami is innocent.

(Oh no, oh no, oh no.)

Amami is dead.

(Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!) 

She stares at his corpse in horror and it’s not the same kind of horror as everybody else.

Because she knows. She knows who killed him. She knows it was her.

 _For a good cause_ , a voice in her head reminds her. _Look on the bright side. You can just take the first blood perk and get out of here. Leave them all behind! Win this game!_

Akamatsu does not listen. 

 _You don’t owe them a thing._ The voice continues. _You’ve never owed any of them a thing._

She knows that much, but she made a mistake. An unfortunate, unfixable mistake.

She made a mistake but she will atone. She will not lose hope.

She cares too much about the people she will leave behind. She cares too much about atoning for the terrible mistake she made. She cares, because at her heart, she is far too kind for her own good. Hasn’t she always been? 

But she will not go down without a fight. She will uncover the ringleader. The mastermind.

If that means she is to die by the end of this, then so be it.

Even if it’s frightening, even if it’s wrong, she will choose to place all her faith in the people around her.

She will place her faith in the ones that will carry out her will once she’s gone. If she cannot control what happens in the class trial. If she cannot stop them from uncovering the terrible, terrible truth.

And she is not afraid, because she’s always been able to rely on people, hasn’t she?

Human beings are wonderfully remarkable things, after all.

 

* * *

 

With Shirogane, in the bathroom, Akamatsu feels cold. Like she’s missing something. But she can’t be.

She wills her heart to settle — thoughts of Shirogane’s hand in hers and them in a tight space all alone are no longer acceptable, but she can’t help it. She’s a killer with not much left to lose, so her mind is on overdrive.

It might be trying to protect her. If she thought too long about what she did, she might be sick ten times over.

What’s worse is that they’re all trying to solve a case she already knows the front and back of, and this is no exception.

“Now hurry up and take your clothes off.” Shirogane says, looking far too unruffled for the situation at hand.

Akamatsu stumbles backwards a little, completely confused. “What?! Why?”

To prove a point. To clear a suspicion. It’s laughable, in this circumstance, to think Akamatsu would accuse Shirogane in the first place.

Shirogane could not have done it.

The couldn’t-have-cosplayed-as-someone-else explanation is a bizarre one — Shirogane wearing her clothes isn’t a sight Akamatsu deserves, no matter how many rashes spread over every visible inch of Shirogane’s perfect skin — but Akamatsu does what she does best and screams before accepting it for what it is.

Shirogane is allergic to dressing up as real people. That’s just how it is.

It doesn’t strike her as relevant, because the case is already solved.

Shirogane, innocent. 

Akamatsu, guilty.

 

* * *

 

 

She fights to the end. She doesn’t meet the executioner. She only sees the animatronic bear slam its paws onto a button and then she’s flying.

 

 

* * *

 

When Akamatsu dies, it is with a great sorrow, and a heart so heavy that it could be the very force dragging her down.

It is in her last moments that she looks wide-eyed out at the people she had made a gamble to save. The people she had failed.

The ones that still refused to see her for the monster she really was. 

The ones that will carry her will forward. 

It’s these faces, she knows, that will be the only funeral she gets.

So she takes in every single one.

Knowing one of them is the traitor that put them through this.

Knowing one of them should have died with her.

She desperately tries to find them.

Even in death’s claws, she tries.

All their faces blur and jerk every time she hits the keys, but she realizes mid-flight, with her last shred of horror, that she sees Shirogane crying, except — she’s not really crying.

Akamatsu doesn’t know how she can tell from so far away, but there are real tears, and these ones aren’t.

People that can cry on command are cunning. It’s dark enough that she might not have noticed, but Akamatsu can read Shirogane more than she thought she could, and Shirogane, beneath the tears, is smiling somehow. 

She’s smiling. Akamatsu’s neck is searing with pain, and she can’t keep her eyes open any longer but she knows what she saw.

And as she – takes – her final – gasp of – air –

Akamatsu hates that she’s the only one who’s seemed to notice.

 

 

 


End file.
